Geared for the Grave (A Cycle Path Mystery) (16 page)

I
pushed past Sutter, went to the fridge, got a Baby Ruth, tore off the wrapper and chomped. “Dinner,” I mumbled around a mouthful. “The Partnership is here, right on the island. I rescued their dog.” I took another bite. “They’re up at SeeFar holding Dwight hostage, although he was cooking for them, so who knows what that’s all about.”

“Can’t you just watch TV and go to bed like everyone else?”

“Angelo met me in the alley and thanked me for saving Meatball. Meatball is Rosetta’s rotund dog with a really bad overbite, and Angelo and Rosetta are names on that napkin I got here at your house. It all ties together.” I pushed Sutter toward the door. “So do your thing. Go arrest them.”

“For what? Making Dwight cook? Probably the only real work he’s done in years. Should give them a medal. How old are these guys?”

“Seventyish. They’re kind of scary.”

Sutter swiped blue from my face. “Lot of that happening around here lately.”

“This is serious. What are they doing up at SeeFar? The front porch was stacked with boxes and a freight dray outside unloading more, like they’re moving in.”

“I bet Dwight learns to cook really fast.”

“That’s it?” I waved my hands in the air. “We’re discussing culinary skills while the Detroit mafia is camping out on the east bluff days after Bunny bites the big one and . . . and . . .”

I finished the Baby Ruth and studied Sutter, who was standing all relaxed on one foot, that darn moonlight in his hair as he calmly munched an apple. Forget the moonlight! “You knew about this?”

“We got the geriatric mafia plus dog, and as long as they don’t break the law here I can’t do anything. Seems Dwight pulled a fast-shuffle real-estate scam on the wrong people and they’ve come to collect what’s owed—like his house.”

I sucked in a quick breath, nearly choking on a peanut. “They’re going to kill him?”

“Dead people don’t pay up, and the paying up part is the important thing. Dwight’s got himself a house, and now his visitors have got it.”

“That’s it! That’s it! The mob knocked off Bunny so Dwight would inherit and they’d get what they had coming to them. It’s a perfect motive.”

“It’s a stretch. And they just got here on the island today. Bunny bit the dust days ago.”

“So they paid someone to do it like . . . like . . . like Jason Bourne! This just keeps getting better and better.”

Sutter dropped the apple core in the trash and put his hands on my shoulders, his big brown eyes serious and dark and really nice. “Listen to me, Chicago. You can’t go around accusing people without proof; especially the mob and a hit man. The Seniority may look a little wrinkled on the outside, but it doesn’t take much effort to pull a trigger and ditch the body, and they’re pros at both. The only thing Jason Bourne’s guilty of is a really stupid name, but I guess it beats Lady Gaga. Cutting an old lady’s brakes isn’t the mob’s style.”

“And you think it’s Rudy’s style?”

Sutter went to the wall and banged his head against it. “I know what you’re going to do. I should lock you up for your own protection.”

“I’ll be discreet.”

“You’re covered in blue paint, half the town is ready to throw you in the lake and now you’re adding the mob to the list. You wouldn’t know
discreet
if you tripped over it on a sunny day and it bit you in the butt.

Sutter threw me out of his house with an apple instead of another Baby Ruth and a blah-blah-blah lecture on some decisions not being good for my health. Guess the
health
part is why I wound up with fruit, instead of another candy bar, like I really wanted.

In all fairness, I got where Sutter was coming from about the mob being risky business, but how could I walk away from Uncle Rudy? He marked the kids’ heights on his shop for Pete’s sake. He bounced them on his knee and brought me pasties, and he was innocent. I had to figure out some way to follow up on this mob–hit man connection and try not to wind up in the freezer or the lake myself.

The crazy Labor Day weekend was three days off, but tonight, downtown was quiet, the family fudgies enjoying their last days of vacation before school started. The only action was in bars like the Pink Pony, the Gatehouse and Goodfellows, and the Stang for the locals. Mission Point, the Grand, Chippewa and the other big hotels on the island had their own, more upscale, evening entertainment for guests.

Sheldon buzzed my butt. It was a
Call me now
text from Abigail, who was probably still at work fine-tuning the pitch for Mr. Big Client. I figured that Rudy had been putting her off these last few days, just like I’d been doing all along. If one of us didn’t give Abigail something to chew on, she’d suspect a cover-up and get herself here ASAP no matter what. I did not need ASAP Abigail—the mob arrival would pale in comparison.

I took a selfie of me in my paint clothes to reassure her I was working hard and helping out, then texted,
Shop looks great, Rudy playing euchre, all’s well
.
I hit
send
and crossed my fingers boss lady bought it.

A breeze ruffled through the treetops, the temperature dropping, with the promise of autumn on its way. The last ferry of the night revved its engines and motored off from the pier rounding the harbor lighthouse that blinked green every ten seconds. A few tired tourists ambled up the dock, and right there in the middle of the ambling was Jason Bourne, a smile on his face and a spring in his step. That was pretty much my reaction to beer and pizza.

He climbed on the taxi, handing his overnight bag to a porter and keeping the silver attaché case cuffed to his wrist by his side. Looks like Mr. Bourne had a good trip; least for him it was good. Did he send a
welcome to the island
basket to Angelo, Rosetta and Meatball? The Seniority hiring Bourne to do the deed was a perfect fit because they’d get SeeFar. It that was the case, maybe Bourne would pay the new kids on the block a visit tonight to see how things were going. Spying on the mob and the local hit man didn’t smack of the brightest idea I’d ever had, but if I could take pictures of the meeting and send them to Sutter, he’d see the connection with his own two eyes. He’d have to believe my hit man–mob theory held water and look into it . . . right?

Considering the stops along the way to let off other passengers, Bourne’s taxi would take about twenty minutes to wind its way to his house. I could run the steps—right now I was so tired it would be more of a crawl—but Irish Donna and Paddy trotting down the street toward me offered another option. I held my thumb out in a hitchhiker stance to get Donna to stop. Like my blue-splattered ensemble wasn’t enough to make her curious.

“If ye looking to get a pint, my dear, hop on board and let’s get to it. The night’s not getting any younger, and with that outfit of yours we might get a round free of charge just for entertaining the customers.”

“Can you give me a lift up to the East Bluff?” I climbed in beside her, and Paddy took off in a slow horsey clop. “I need to . . .”

Yikes. I needed to what?
I was walking into Don Corleone does fudge island, and I couldn’t let Donna be part of that. Her being in on the barn loft exploits and risking getting yelled at by Smithy was one thing, but this was a whole different ball game.

“To take pictures of the island,” I said, holding up Sheldon as we trotted along with a few others out enjoying a nighttime buggy ride. “My parents want to see the view of the Mackinac Bridge all lit up at night. They’re thinking about coming here for vacation next year.”

“Ye be the worst liar I ever encountered, Chicago. I know what you’re up to, and it’s checking out those new folks moving in with Dwight. Everybody’s talking; they be kind of a scary lot with taking over SeeFar like they have. I think we should pay a visit and see what’s what.”

“There is no
we
this time, okay?” I said as we started up Mission Hill. “Just drop me off at the top and you go back to the Stang.”

“The town’s dead as a bedpost tonight—nothing going on. So what we be looking for now that we’re here?”

I took one of Donna’s hands in mine and looked her dead in the eyes so she’d know I was serious. “Bunny’s out of the picture, and three days later SeeFar has new occupants from Detroit? It’s too much of a coincidence, and I don’t want you caught in the middle. From what I’ve heard, Dwight kept company with some pretty rough characters, and this could be the cream of the crop.”

Donna folded her arms and pouted. “You think you’re smarter than me ’cause you’re from the big city and I’m just an old island hick.”

Good grief, where’d that come from? “I don’t want you in the line of fire—if there is fire, not that there will be fire. Forget fire.” Did I have to mention fire? Like waving red in front of a bull.

Donna grinned, eyes sparkling. “Now you’re talking. There be some serious action going on, and I can be putting it on my Facebook page. Bet I get myself a bunch of
likes
over this one.”

The mob going viral was not what I needed. “Stay out of this and I’ll buy you breakfast tomorrow at the Pancake House and tell you everything, I swear.”

Donna had one foot out of the carriage.

“I’ll give Paddy a bath.”

“And ye make the scone deliveries for me tomorrow afternoon?”

“Sure, whatever, just go home.” I thought about what I was saying. Tomorrow afternoon sounded really specific—
planned
specific. “You’re playing me?”

“Our delivery boy’s off to camp and we need to be making the delivery. Shamus and I have a big group of our own coming in for high tea.”

“I think I’ve just been had.”

“Maybe a wee bit, but you’re catching on.” I climbed down from the buggy. Donna climbed back in, waved, then flicked the reins. Paddy started down the road toward town, passing the taxi coming up. Bourne sat all alone in the back, still looking really happy about something. Maybe this time he’d knocked off a bad guy who had it coming.

I ducked behind the big petunia pots, thinking I should start paying rent on the space. Peeking around the edge, I spied Bourne disembarking and heard the
clack, clack, clack
of his weekender rolling up his sidewalk to his front door. He pulled out keys, unlocked the door and went inside, and I saw the living room light come on.

Shivering as much from the cold as from what I was doing up here all by myself, I waited till the coast was clear, then slunk to the back of SeeFar, doing a clam-crawl again to keep below the window line. I knew this house way better than I wanted to. Lights were on in the kitchen and the window was open, probably from another Dwight-created gastronomic fiasco.

I slipped down between a white concrete statue of the Blessed Virgin that hadn’t been there before and a big bush. I made sure none of those
leaves of three
were hanging around. If Bourne came calling, I’d see him. Or maybe this was a wild goose chase and they’d all just go to bed; they had to be tired. Heck, I was tired to the bone. I’d painted a house and rescued a Meatball.

I settled back against the side of the house, trying to get warm. I gave Mary a pat on the back for being such a great mom. My eyes closed for a little rest and at the moment I was too beat to think about any creepy crawlies occupying my hiding space. Right now I was in an exhausted,
live and let live
frame of mind.

“What are you doing here?” said a rough voice hovering over me.

“Rudy?”

“Guess again.”

The flashlight clicked off and I blinked my eyes open to angry black ones and Angelo pointing a gun right at my forehead.

“H
ow’d you know I was here?” I asked Angelo as he lowered the gun.

“My turn to unload the dishwasher and I heard snoring outside the window.”

I jutted my chin and sat up straight, squaring my shoulders. “I do not snore.”

“We’re talking buzz saw. Why are you here keeping Mary company, and why are you blue?”

Think, Evie, think.
Praying? Drunk as a skunk? Blue is the new black? I held up my hands. “I got nothing.” I crawled out and stood. “If you were going to shoot me, you would have done it by now, right?”

“Be a big sin to shoot you with Mary here looking on.”

Otherwise it would be a little sin?
Probably best not to press the point.

Angelo held out the gun. “Besides, the thing doesn’t even have bullets. Rosetta tossed ’em out last year when I shot up her best drapes thinking we had an intruder. She ragged on me for a month about the dang drapes. You’d think they were made of gold. I still carry my piece here ’cause I feel naked without it. So spill it, what gives?”

“It’s an island, people are curious and it’s my turn to get the dirt.”

“Ya gotta be the worst liar ever.” Angelo nodded toward the back steps. “I was making cocoa, extra marshmallows when I can get away with it. Rosetta’s always on me about my blood sugar levels. Want some cocoa? It’s cold out here and you’re shivering.”

More like shaking from sheer terror.

“Rosetta and Meatball are watching reruns of
The
Untouchables
,” Angelo added as I followed him up the back wood steps and into the kitchen. “I think Dwight’s hiding under his bed. He made oatmeal cookies. Half of ’em burned. We can scrape off the black part and they might not be too bad.”

“Why do you have Dwight cooking for you?”

Angelo nodded to a ladder-back chair by a maple kitchen table complete with a green fringe tablecloth and a bowl of wax apples in the middle. I sat down, and Angelo spooned cocoa into a saucepan and whisked the milk. “Dwight sold a bunch of us some real estate in the Keys for a winter place. The problem was, he didn’t own it. We thought a long walk off a short pier might even the score, but then he inherited this house and we figured a summer place might be nice. Rosetta and I are here to get things organized for the others coming in a few weeks. We like the house, but it’s too bad about Dwight’s mom.”

Time for the loaded questions. I eyed the back door, figuring it would take me maybe two seconds to get there and run screaming into the night. “So.” I swallowed, scooting to the edge of the chair for a fast getaway. “How did you know she died? It’s pretty much hush-hush.”

“We had someone keeping an eye on Dwight, ’cause he was in to us for a bundle. We got the word about Bunny and hiding the body in a freezer so as not to upset the business community till after the holiday. Now we got ourselves a cook and a summer house.”

“You didn’t facilitate Dwight’s inheritance?”

Angelo stopped whisking the cocoa, giving me a slow look. “You mean like did we snuff out Dwight’s mom to get this house? We’d never do that to an old lady. What kind of people do you think we are? You were friends with Bunny?”

“I’m friends with the guy accused of knocking her off, and if it wasn’t you doing the knocking, then it’s got to be somebody else on my list.”

“You got a list?” Angelo looked wistful. “I remember the days when I had a list.” He dropped a handful of little marshmallows in the bottom of two
I
Detroit
mugs and poured out the cocoa, the scent of chocolate permeating the air and steam curling over the top of the little pillow-puffs of white.

“So who do you think snuffed Bunny?” Angelo asked, taking the seat across from me.

“She wasn’t loved by one and all around here, including her own son and his girlfriend. She was kind of a pain in the neck,” I said, plucking a chocolate-infused marshmallow off the top and dropping it in my mouth. “There’re two other bike shops on the island,” I added. “Both would like to take over my friend’s shop and cut the competition, so framing him fits. Then there’s a blacksmith and the neighborhood hit man, Jason Bourne. Neither of them got along with Bunny either.”

Angelo stopped the mug halfway to his mouth. “Jason Bourne? See, that’s what gives this profession a bad rap. Cheesy nicknames make us all look bad. Maybe you should have a look around this Bourne guy’s place, since he’s a professional. Could be someone wanted Bunny out of the way and hired local talent; makes better sense than a DIY job. You know what you’re getting when you hire local. Think global, buy local.” Angelo laughed. “A little hit man humor. So when are we busting in?”

“We?” I splashed my cocoa across the table.

“You helped us, now I can help you.”

“I appreciate the thought, but I can’t be busting anything. That cop here has me on a short leash, and if he catches me doing one more thing—”

“Catching’s not gonna happen. Where’s this hit man live?”

“Two doors up.”

Angelo took a sip from his mug, and a white line clung to his upper lip. Guns, breaking and entering with the mob and a marshmallow mustache . . . It was one of those nights.

“Let’s see now,” Angelo said. “I signed up for Pilates at noon at the Lilac Tree Spa ’cause the arthritis in my shoulder’s acting up from packing heat all these years. There’s a butterfly talk up at the Grand I want to catch, and Dwight’s having a yard sale here to pick up some cash. We’ll do the bust tomorrow night. Eight’s good? Meet you at the back door here. Have somebody get this Bourne guy out of his house for an hour. And you need to ditch the blue; you stand out like a neon sign.”

*   *   *

The next morning
I added another layer of lotion to my abused skin after scrubbing paint off my body for an hour the night before and thinking about my new BFF from Detroit.

“Rudy?” I called out, tromping downstairs. Except there was no Rudy in the kitchen with fresh coffee waiting for me, just two cats hovering over a half-empty food bowl as if Armageddon and starvation were imminent. I filled the bowl, made coffee then knocked on Rudy’s bedroom door. Getting no answer, I headed outside, figuring he was probably getting a head start on the great Tom Sawyer project, except he wasn’t—he wasn’t there either, and with all that was going on around here I didn’t like Rudy being MIA. Somebody framed Rudy for taking out Bunny; the next step might be to take out
him
. Last night I was in bed before Rudy came in; that is,
if
he came in.

I pulled out Sheldon and dialed 911. “Yes, it’s an emergency,” I barked to Sutter when he picked up. “Rudy’s missing. I don’t think he came home last night. Do something—and don’t give me that forty-eight-hour missing person speech like they do on TV for a person to be officially gone. Here everyone knows where everyone is twenty-four/seven. Do something!”

I could hear some papers rustling in the background.

“Are you listening to me?”

“I dropped my doughnut.” The phone went dead, and little red dots danced in front of my eyes. I was going to kill Sutter with my bare hands! It was one thing to ignore my killer theories, but Rudy was not here, and that mattered. We got along, we were friends and painting buds and he fixed me breakfast every morning.

I grabbed a jacket, slammed the door and headed for the police station, but then I saw Sutter on a bike pedaling my way. “’Bout time you got here. No horsey?”

“He’s eating breakfast, like everyone else on this island.” Sutter parked the bike and nodded at the emporium. “Lights on in the back. Did you think that maybe Rudy’s having coffee with Mom? They’re friends. She’s up, he’s up, it’s early.”

“Coffee?”

“Black stuff, cream, sugar, maybe a doughnut, unless it ends up on the floor when you’re answering a phone call from some crazed female.”

“Look,” I rushed on, trying to explain. “I’m just a little jumpy with all that’s going on around here.”

“You’re jumpy?” Sutter took a step back and laughed. Oh, that’s rich. Got any idea the impact you’re having on the rest of us around here? We passed jumpy two days ago. The whole island’s destined for Prozac.” Sutter put his hand on my back and none too gently shoved me up the walk to the back door of the emporium. Irma was busting about inside, copper pots simmering on the stove, ribbons of steam curling out over the top.

“Well, hello, dears,” Irma said, all smiles, eyes bright and cheery as we walked in. She nodded to me and kissed sonny boy on the cheek.

“See, no Rudy,” I said with a
so there
edge to my voice. “He’s missing, and I bet he’s in trouble, I can feel in my bones that something isn’t right, and—”

“Irma, do you have an extra towel? This one’s . . .” Rudy stopped in the doorway between the kitchen and the hall. Sutter’s eyes rounded to the size of golf balls, and you could have knocked me over with a wet noodle. Not exactly the kind of trouble I had in mind, but with a gun on Sutter’s hip it was headed that way.

“Rudy,” Irma giggled. “You look better in that blue robe than I ever did.”

“I gave you that robe.” Sutter stared, not moving a muscle. “What . . . Who . . . Why . . . Mom!”

“Well now,” Irma said, handing a fluffy, just-out-of-the-dryer towel to Rudy and giving the pot another stir with a spoon the Jolly Green Giant would have found useful. “You know the
who
well enough, and as for the
what
and
why
, I don’t think that’s any of your business—no offense, dear.”

“You’re sixty-seven.”

“Sixty-eight, dear.”

Sutter looked from his mother to Rudy, who was slowly backing into the hallway. “How can you do this?”

“How?” Irma patted her son’s hand. “There’s a book upstairs in your old room. Thought we went over this when you were ten or maybe eleven. Been a while for you, has it? Don’t worry, you’re young; you have time to figure it out.”

“But . . . but . . .” Sutter muttered, then headed for the door in a near-run, slamming it behind him.

“Is he gone?” Rudy asked, peeking around the corner, this time in his pants and shirt. “I’m sorry, Irma, I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

Irma put her hands on Rudy’s shoulders and gave him a sassy smile. “I thought it happened pretty well, if I do say so myself.”

Yikes!
“I’m out of here. See you back at the ranch,” I blurted to Rudy. I exited through the front of the emporium in case Sutter had passed out right there on Main. Sutter was nowhere in sight, but Fiona pulled her cart to the curb and climbed down, a big brown basket in her arms.

“Did you happen to see our local police officer?” I asked her.

“Strangest thing, he was pounding on the front door of the Stang, yelling something about being desperate and they had to let him in or he’d shoot the lock off the place. Wonder what that’s all about? Did you do something new and not include me?”

“For once I’m innocent. What’s in the basket?” I asked as a diversion from questions I didn’t want to answer.

“Here, let me show you. You’re gonna love this.” Fiona flipped open the lid. “The brandy fudge was a big hit—Irma sold out in half a day, so she’s decided to aim for the more adult palate.”

Fiona pulled out a jar and held it up. “This is ancho chilies and smoked paprika sea salt, and Smithy makes this special herb butter from his garden that he keeps in the back of his fridge, so I grabbed a tub. Irma’s leaving the maple-nut and chocolate chips to the rest of the shops on the island, and changing the name from
Irma’s Fudge Emporium
to
The Good Stuff
. We’re appealing to a niche market, giving senior discounts. This is going to put Irma on the map, and maybe get me out of the doghouse.”

By afternoon, most of the bike shop had a second coat of beach-baby blue as Rudy/Twain told stories to the kids about the big fish in the lake and explained that the best way to toast marshmallows was on a stick you found in the woods and that there were more stars in the sky than grains of sand on all the beaches on Earth. When I came around to the front to paint, I saw that Rudy had added
how tall I am
marks along the entire front of the shop, along with dates and names.

“What are we going to do about the kids?” Rudy asked me. “We can’t paint over their marks. Look right there: Allison Bell is thirty-two and three-quarters inches tall and Dominic Carter is forty-three-and-a-half inches tall. They’ll come back next year and be looking to see how much they’ve grown, along with all the other kids I’ve got up here. We can’t paint over it and we can’t leave the shop looking run down.”